Crossing the Distance
by Belldandy07
Summary: Desmond/Shaun. Shaun works furiously at his station, all the while suffering from intense stress. Desmond attempts to comfort him, but the problem's much deeper than it seems.
1. Chapter 1

Fandom: Assassin's Creed Couple: Desmond/Shaun Rating: T (for ages 18 and up)  
>Disclaimer: If anyone has the gall to believe I own even a slither of the AC series, I've got a wallaby to sell you.<br>WARNING: This contains male/male romance. If you're adverse to male/male romance, and/or the featured couple, PLEASE acquaint yourself with your back button.

Oxford University: A prominent university in Britain.

Assassin's Creed AU. Shaun started off as an Abstergo victim, but was rescued by Desmond and Lucy. Rebecca aided them in the rescue.

Find me in full swing under PeorthMoon, on DeviantArt.

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><p>With every breath, he closed the distance between his existence and life's end.<p>

Like every other explorer, he had merely set out in search of answers. He set out for ways to make his life complete, digging up treasures from past empires. The treasures of kings and queens once fulfilled him, quenching his thirst for a purpose. Bygone kingdoms, battles and heroes gave him the air, the light he needed to survive.

As of late, though, his adventures had done nothing but gut him.

Keeping track of everything was intolerably difficult. Aided by three allies, he had spent several weeks researching the unknown. The world teetered on perpetual destruction as he did so, walking closer and closer to the edge. The world's condition reminded him of his own condition, even as he tried to bury his eyes in history's channels. The other teams were in dire need of his work, since there was a lot of research to be done. Files on Leonardo da Vinci, the Shepherd's Journal and the Pieces of Eden weren't going to spring from the ground. Not only that, but he was the greatest tactician on any team. Any team would happily prove that-including his own.

Well, he wasn't too sure about one teammate's approval.

Ah. Out of nowhere, his body temperature shot to a feverish level. Desmond was hardly a source of happiness. Ever since their daring escape from Abstergo, the ex-bartender hadn't been anything but a thorn in his side. Sure, the Miles successfully liberated the historian from Vidic's clutches, aided by the one and only Stillman. But apparently, the hair-raising rescue didn't give either man a fabulous start. The raven-haired assassin was too bent on playing the 'deranged, pissy hero', throwing his temper everywhere he could. Rebecca and Lucy were perfectly immune to his 'charms'. He, on the other hand, was an obvious magnet for Desmond's 'brilliant' charisma.

Ah. Every time he drew breath, he felt as if he drew in large pockets of heat. White-hot, agonizing heat. Dizziness distorted his vision for a brief moment. There was hardly any time to think of Desmond, or the 'wonders' he brought into an aggravated historian's life. Teams were devastated every minute, either swept into Abstergo's arms or killed off. Viciously. There was still so much to learn about Leo, the Journal-

Someone spoke, but words weren't registered. However, he gave a little jump once a hand landed on his shoulder. Eyes fluttered, he peered up into the eyes of his intruder. And it was the last person he expected to see. "Why are you still up?" the strange figure asked, hands in his pockets. He was perfectly calm-rather surprising, considering he only displayed his calm, friendly self towards the women. Shaun didn't know what to do or think. Not to mention his body heat wasn't helping.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say I was going through menopause! Damn this heat!

"It's three o'clock in the morning. You should try to catch some Zs."

"What are you, my captain? Is it really your place to give me orders?"

The raven took a seat at the tactician's side. He was calm, but thoroughly exhausted. "Just wondering what you're up to," he said softly, wearing a look Shaun had never seen before. Lucy had probably seen it half a million times.

"It seems like you're up, around the clock."

The Hastings bit his bottom lip, desperately trying to ignore his rising body temperature. Any higher, and he'd start sweating. Damn it damn it damn it-

"How nice of you to notice. History doesn't unfold itself, lovely, and our manpower dwindles every hour. If I-"

The assassin's eyes widened. "I?"

"Damn it, Desmond! The Journal isn't going to invite us to a lovely little picnic! And in case you've forgotten, the Journal's meant to lead us to the Pieces of Eden! If you don't mind, I'd like to concentrate on my work!"

There. Without a word, the raven rose from his seat. Shaun was initially overjoyed to hear him leave, but joy was only a fleeting moment. It was replaced by overwhelming sorrow, for he wished he hadn't been so rough. He was practically cruel towards Desmond, when the assassin had done nothing wrong. Perhaps their shitty excuse of a relationship was all his fault. Desmond was perfectly warm and kind with the women. Perhaps...perhaps...

A cup landed at his side, filled with a rather refreshing liquid.

"Thought you could use some tea. You're into...raspberry right?"

Cold raspberry tea. Iced raspberry tea. That's exactly what it was. And at that moment, Shaun could've leapt from his chair and smothered Desmond in kisses. "I most certainly am," the Hastings said softly, desperately suppressing the urge to drown the assassin in kisses. He could've jumped right into an icy cold pool of tea, and happily would've sent his body into seizures. At least then the damn heat flashes would stop.

"I'm surprised you remembered."

"I aim to please," the Miles said, re-taking his seat at Shaun's side. He should've been asleep himself, what with all of the bags underneath his eyes. Desmond looked as if he hadn't sleep in ages. The historian noticed something other than exhaustion, though. Ezio's descendant was on the verge of a tremendous discovery-that he could tell, just by peering into the raven's intense eyes. Looking as if he didn't have a care in the world, Desmond folded his hands onto Shaun's workspace.

"Now, let's go over everything we have so far."

Shaun took a (tremendous) swig of his tea. "What?" he asked, eyes widened. "Can't sleep?"

"No, in case you haven't noticed. I don't fancy visiting Ezio or Altair outside of the Animus."

The Hastings grimaced. "The Bleeding Effect has advanced that much, has it?"

"I'm surprised I still know who I am."

Desmond's response infused a great deal of sadness into Shaun-and Shaun made no show of hiding it. Noticing the look on the tactician's face, the Miles provided him with a gentle, comforting smile. "Long story short, I can bounce back whenever I need to," he said, poking the side of his head with a finger. Extra emphasis on his heroics.

"If I can hold on long enough to end this nightmare, great."

'Was THAT supposed to be comforting?' the historian's eyes asked. Wanting to steer away from his condition, Desmond looked at the information on Shaun's monitor. "Every Gatekeeper adds to the Journal. They add their expertise, their knowledge, to every one of its pages. If the Journal is meant to lead us to the Pieces of Eden, were the Gatekeepers...already equipped with knowledge of the Apple?"

"You mean...have they known of the Apple since birth? Considering the divine qualities of our heroes, it would be safe to assume so."

Desmond's face turned sour. "But we've only been able to uncover riddles. Nothing's in black and white."

"Witless moron. Do you honestly think any Gatekeeper, in their right mind, would paint pictures of POEs in the Journal? I mean, seriously. If destiny were that easy to communicate with, we would've lost this little game ages ago!"

"I beg to differ," the ex-bartender put in. His warmth and charm caused Shaun's heart to play hopskotch. "Now. The Glyphs. It seems as if Subject 16 had a connection to either Eden or the Journal. He's trying to to paint a picture for us-and he might be directing us to-"

"Death and destruction."

"You aren't too optimistic about any of this, are you?"

"Um...our world's on the brink of destruction, we have only twenty four hours to save it...Abstergo's capturing our teams by the pound...so...how about a great big NO?"

Desmond opened his mouth to respond, but another thick wave of heat compelled Shaun to speak first. "Listen, you bloody nit," the Hastings snarled, cutting off their first pleasant conversation (much to his own horror).

"Why don't you take your leave? You've got to take center stage soon. And what are you doing, wasting your time on me anyway? I thought you were infatuated with-"

The former bartender's voice was surprisingly sharp. "Who?"

"Damn you to Hell, Desmond. LUCY!"

"Y'know, for an Oxford Professor, you aren't too smart."

"Don't tell me you've been hypnotized by Rebecca?"

"Wrong on both accounts, Professor Hastings. I'm in love with an idiot that can't see two inches in front of his face-except when it comes to his database."

The assassin said a few more words, but Shaun couldn't catch any of them. Gingerly, losing his control on what little mind he had left, he gripped his tea. Gentle hands fell onto his shoulders, the cup plunged from his hands-it crashed to the floor-

And he crashed right along with it.


	2. Chapter 2

Fandom: Assassin's Creed Couple: Desmond/Shaun Rating: T (for ages 18 and up)  
>Disclaimer: If anyone has the gall to believe I own even a slither of the AC series, I've got a wallaby to sell you.<br>WARNING: This contains male/male romance. If you're adverse to male/male romance, and/or the featured couple, PLEASE acquaint yourself with your back button.

Assassin's Creed AU. Shaun started off as an Abstergo victim, but was rescued by Desmond and Lucy. Rebecca aided them in the rescue.

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><p>Crossing the Distance 01<p>

With every breath, he closed the distance between his existence and life's end.

Like every other explorer, he had merely set out in search of answers. He set out for ways to make his life complete, digging up treasures from past empires. The treasures of kings and queens once fulfilled him, quenching his thirst for a purpose. Bygone kingdoms, battles and heroes gave him the air, the light he needed to survive.

As of late, though, his adventures had done nothing but gut him.

Keeping track of everything was intolerably difficult. Aided by three allies, he had spent several weeks researching the unknown. The world teetered on perpetual destruction as he did so, walking closer and closer to the edge. The world's condition reminded him of his own condition, even as he tried to bury his eyes in history's channels. The other teams were in dire need of his work, since there was a lot of research to be done. Files on Leonardo da Vinci, the Shepherd's Journal and the Pieces of Eden weren't going to spring from the ground. Not only that, but he was the greatest tactician on any team. Any team would happily prove that-including his own.

Well, he wasn't too sure about one teammate's approval.

"Now, let's go over everything we have so far."

Shaun took a (tremendous) swig of his tea. "What?" he asked, eyes widened. "Can't sleep?"

"No, in case you haven't noticed. I don't fancy visiting Ezio or Altair outside of the Animus."

The Hastings grimaced. "The Bleeding Effect has advanced that much, has it?"

"I'm surprised I still know who I am."

Desmond's response infused a great deal of sadness into Shaun-and Shaun made no show of hiding it. Noticing the look on the tactician's face, the Miles provided him with a gentle, comforting smile. "Long story short, I can bounce back whenever I need to," he said, poking the side of his head with a finger. Extra emphasis on his heroics.

"If I can hold on long enough to end this nightmare, great."

'Was THAT supposed to be comforting?' the historian's eyes asked.

"Y'know, for an Oxford Professor, you aren't too smart."

"Don't tell me you've been hypnotized by Rebecca?"

"Wrong on both accounts, Professor Hastings. I'm in love with an idiot that can't see two inches in front of his face-except when it comes to his database."

The assassin said a few more words, but Shaun couldn't catch any of them. Gingerly, losing his control on what little mind he had left, he gripped his tea. Gentle hands fell onto his shoulders, the cup plunged from his hands-it crashed to the floor-

And he crashed right along with it.

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><p><em>Team Log: 0804/2012_

_We're on pins and needles, Beccie and I. But Desmond's here. Desmond's strong. And he hasn't left Shaun's side._

_He rarely ever leaves Shaun's side. In the last couple of weeks, things have changed between the two of them. Sure, our Poppet has been an insanely grumpy git, but that's only because of the pressure he's under. He keeps the world on his shoulders, and expects himself to carry it around like the luggage cart._

_I hate this. I hate what has happened to Desmond, and what is happening to Shaun. Bloody hell, I'm nervous. I'm scared, angry, frustrated and worried all at once! How I wish I could end this, and take these three characters out for a drink. But I can't. That's the way of the world. So I'm stuck here, in the Villa Auditore, waiting for Sleeping Beauty to awaken. He's been unconscious for five hours now, and I'm ready to pull my hair out._

_Thank God we had enough foresight to pack medical equipment. Because of our ability to peer into the near future, we're able to diagnose our sleeping moron. None of us have access to a hospital, so thank goodness we were smart enough to pack such things. But studying Shaun's condition isn't a walk in the park. Nor is it any fun watching him toss and turn._

_I hate this. Hate hate hate._

_At least Desmond's able to shake off his side effects from Animus sessions._

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><p>She was as still as a board, watching life as it slept before her eyes.<p>

Along with her partner-in-crime, she convinced Desmond to 'pull over' for a while. He was the calmest creature on two legs, but his concern for a certain historian was evident-and intense. He would've given the world for the chance to remain at Shaun's side, but his female counterparts persuaded him to rest. Lengthy Animus sessions rarely did any favors for the psyche. And Shaun, much to the women's immense horror, was already in enough danger.

The Stillman said she had no wish to play 'Vidic'. Desmond promptly plunged into slumber, responding to his body's wishes for restoration. While he slept, far from the Villa Auditore and everything he loved, the maidens held a strong vigil over their tactician. They comforted him whenever nightmares struck, and kept firm eyes on his worrisome condition. Rebecca informed the other teams of Shaun's condition, Lucy buried her face into her palms, and-

Life was an unbearable nightmare.

Members of the remaining teams aided in Shaun's diagnosis. While Rebecca and Lucy were overjoyed with the assistance, neither of them were thrilled over the discoveries. When a certain someone rejoined them, Lucy bit her bottom lip in an attempt to suppress tears. He exchanged a frail greeting with Rebecca, and dismissed all questions about his condition. "So what's going on?" he asked, returning to the historian's bedside. Running a hand through her hair, Lucy sighed.

"Think about the way Shaun's been acting. Over the last couple of days, what have you seen?"

Desmond's eyes darkened, signaling a plunge into deep thought. "Th' guy could never sit still," Rebecca put in, wrapping an arm about her friend's shoulders. Barely ate, and judging from the last couple of hours, he can't even keep water in his tum tum."

"He's always been a pessimistic nutcase, but as of late, his pessimism's been way out of hand. Bec says he's up in the middle of the night, can't forget how he complains about feeling dizzy-"

"And don't forget his new fascination with cold tea. Cold raspberry tea."

Rebecca and her partner-in-crime couldn't suppress a smile. Although thoroughly aggravated, Desmond spoke as if he were filming a commercial. "Body temperature's another fabulous bullet point," the Crane said, meshing frustration and worry. "Poppet's temperature hit 107 degrees. He woke at one point, pretty close to passing out from dehydration. Long story short, I gave him a bit of water, he drank it, choked on it and clocked right back out."

"This has to be connected to his time at Abstergo," Lucy said, reflecting Desmond's (rather violent) thoughts. With her motherly, compassionate eyes, she peered into her brave friend's heart. "Desmond, some of our allies think Shaun's suffering from Severe Stress Syndrome. Others believe he's suffering from the extreme form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"He's not too happy around water," Rebecca put in quickly, reflecting on her recent episode with Shaun's drowning. "Vidic or one of his cronies must've done something to him with water. The bastards."

No one had a chance to say anything else. Their topic of discussion shot up, clutching his heart and breathing furiously. All three of his team mates rushed to his side, murmuring frantic yet gentle, loving words of comfort. His eyes darted between all three of their faces, the environment-nothing was clear, nothing made any sense, and-

Lucy clasped her hands over her heart. "Shaun?"

Silence tormented all of them. Their historian's eyes continued to dart around, questioning everything in sight. Just when Lucy began to fear amnesia, the Hastings spoke.

"I'm seeing things."

Desmond didn't waste a second. "Things? What things?"

"Things I'm not supposed to be seeing, Desmond. Strange things."

"How can you be seeing anything? We haven't-"

Lucy winced, as if she had been stabbed. Shaun's eyes had cut her question short. "I'm seeing these men," the historian went on, tender because of distress his companions were under. His voice was otherwise frantic and frail. And reflecting on his discoveries wasn't the least bit simple.

"They're dressed in these red robes. They appear to be holy men of some sort. I...I believe one of them goes by the name Petrarch."

The Crane slapped a hand against her forehead. "Oh God."

Details flooded into Shaun's mind, shedding fragile light on a horrifically enigmatic experience. "Fathers of the Three Divine Fountains," he went on, the intensity of his voice rising. He spoke as if he would bolt without a moment's notice, compelling Desmond to wrap his arms around him. "Descendants of royalty. Creators of the-"

"Wait a minute. You aren't related to Petrarch, are you? Are you the Father of Humanism's descendant?"

Desmond turned to the wide-eyed, on-pins-and-needles Lucy. "Don't think so, Mom," he said, firm but soft. "I have a sinking feeling he's related to-"

He returned his eyes to Shaun. They spoke the end of his thought simultaneously.

"Dante Aligheri."

"Wait a minute. Wait just a frickin' minute. The Fathers of the Fountains were connected to the Gatekeeper, right?"

"Good for you, Rebecca. You remembered your History lesson!"

Despite an overwhelming fondness for the banter she shared with Shaun, Rebecca wasn't in the mood for it. "There's no way we're stickin' you in the Animus," the raven-haired tech snarled viciously. The intensity behind her words caused her old friend to blush. "Not no way, not no how."

Lucy balled her hands into a solitary, painfully tight fist. She voiced an idea she wasn't the least bit fond of. "But if we do send him into the Animus, it might shed light on the mysteries we're dealing with here. We still need to fill in the gaps of Leonardo's divine destiny. And the Fathers might lead us to today's Gatekeeper."

Shaun said nothing. He didn't need to say anything. The horrified, apprehensive look on his face was enough. Lucy saw the look and felt her eyes burn. "Let's take five," the team's former bartender said, wanting to soften a tsunami before it swallowed everything in sight. "Sleeping Beauty needs a bit more rest. And while he's resting, we can go over everything we've learned so far."

"But-"

Mother Bird's voice was an icy, sharp growl. "No 'buts', Shaun. You heard the man."

"So what? You're telling me to shut my eyes, yes, but what if I choose to keep my sanity? I don't fancy drowning every time I pull the curtains!"

With helpless eyes, the former Abstergo employee turned to Desmond. Rebecca echoed not only her own thought, but Lucy's thought as well. "The balls in your court, Maestro," she said, urgently but softly. Lucy's sad, blue eyes were on him, Beccie was on stand-by-

Shaun's eyes were-

_Dammit, dammit, dammit._


End file.
